


Perhaps

by WeAllFlyHigh



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: A little crack, I cant believe some of those relationship tags exist, I want to feed this ship, M/M, how do we deal with rising international tension we dissociate with shipping, made almost entirely of sap and pining, rare pair 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24717892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeAllFlyHigh/pseuds/WeAllFlyHigh
Summary: Maybe in another life. Perhaps if things were different.Drabbles for Rare Pair 2020
Relationships: America/China (Hetalia), Canada/Netherlands (Hetalia), Prussia/Rome (Hetalia), Prussia/South Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	1. Plans- Canada X Netherlands

**Plans**

* * *

He flinched as his phone crashed onto his face. It was, unfortunately, not the first time that had happened tonight.

He glanced down beside him. Mathew was still tucked between the back of their old couch and his side. He was breathing deeply. His eyelids were fluttering every so often. He had fallen asleep halfway into the movie and showed no signs of waking up any time soon.

Lars sighed and pulled up the website again. It was the fifth florists’ site he’d visited today. The light from his phone was starting to burn his eyes. He’d been staring at it for hours. They all looked the same, every website, every floral arrangement, and every price tag. 

The ceiling fan spun. The pages of a nearby notebook fluttered in the artificial breeze. A red binder sat unaffected on their kitchen table. It was thin. The only pages inside pertained to their wedding venue. That at least was an easy decision. There was never going to be any other place he would be married in besides where his parents had married.

Everything else, that was turning out to be harder. There were so many decisions to be made and each one of them had to be the perfect choice. Mathew deserved a perfect day dedicated to him. Not only that but he had to make sure everything before and after was as painless as possible. He knew that wedding plan could be stressful and expensive. So, it was up to him.

“What are you doing?”

Mathew looked up at him with heavily lidded eyes. His hand lazily stroked along his chest. Lars pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Helping.”

“With what?”

“Wedding.”

Mathew lifted his head. “Really? How?” Lars tilted his phone for Mathew to see. “Flowers?”

“You’ve been working very hard.” There was no debate about that. Mathew had been picking up shifts. At first it was for rings. Now it was for the wedding.

Mathew settled back down. “Tulips,” he said with certainty.

“Tulips?”

“They’re your favorite, aren’t they? They’ll be more available in the spring. So, that’s when we can get married. Is red and white ok with you?” When Lars nodded Mathew laughed. He was perfect. He knew him so well and was so kind. Plus, he apparently knew Lars like the back of his hand.

“So, there’s a season, flowers, and colors. Stop worrying. None of the details matter. We could get married in a leaky bus stop and it wouldn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that we’re getting married. Besides it’s a partnership. I’m here to help you.”

There was a lot of things Lars could say to that. He could declare Mathew’s perfection. He could swear his love and affection for all his life and beyond. But he was a man of few words and action. So he pulled him closer and kissed him deeply. He was making the best decision of his life.


	2. It Was a Dark and Stormy Night - Canada X Netherlands

The laughter and murmurings of friends’ fade. A flickering flame touches a new wick. Mathew holds his candle steady and sneaks a glance at Lars. He looks good. Really good. His hair is a mess. Mathew’s is too, it’s the consequences not hiding quick enough when James appeared with a ball under his arm. It’s been a good day with good friends and he hopes it continues until the last moment. Mathew looks away before he can get caught in Lars’ eyes.

Once all the candles are lite, they begin.

Katya sets her candle on floor. She smooths the lines of her skirt down. Then she bites her lip and looks at them all. She takes a deep breath and begins. She keeps her voice low and steady. Half the room is leaning forwards, already hooked.

“My second year of university I moved off campus with some friends. It was not the nicest apartment, but it was so affordable. We were all very excited about living together and off campus. But after we moved in, we realized that we were never alone in the apartment. It always felt like someone was in the room with you, watching you. And they didn’t want you there.”

“After the first month, strange things started happening. We would get home and the lights would be on, even though we knew they had been off. Closed doors would be open when you turned around. I would set my keys down to pick up my purse and they would be gone.”

Katya pauses to compose herself. Several people take the time to give their thoughts on how creepy that would be. Mathew has already heard this story and his attention is firmly in Lars’ hands. Lars leans closer to him. He looks beautiful in the candlelight. His blue green eyes catch the golden flames and he swears he’s never seen anything so captivating. His heart flutters.

Katya continues. “It got worse. One night, I woke up. The walls were so thin in the apartment that at first I thought my roommate was snoring. I heard them regularly but it had never woken me up before. Then I realized the noise was more like gasping. It was terrible. I thought that my roommate was choking. I knew I had to do something, but I was so terrified I couldn’t move. I just laid there and listened to the gasps. I didn’t even know why. As I listened, I realized that the gasps were very rough. It was almost like there was a growl underneath.”

“Then I heard my roommate snore. The growling continued.”

A crash rang out. There’s a scream. Mathew jumps. He clings to Lars. He melts into the warmth. His heart still pounds in his chest. He hadn’t planned on this and he’ll deny it if anyone says anything but he can’t not take this opportunity.

“Oh My God! No more! I’m done. I’m out.” Mathew ignores the scrambling from across the circle.

“Alfred are you serious?” Mathew should probably help. He has a pretty good success rate of calming his brother down. But he has no intention of leaving Lars’ arms.

“It’s not my fault!”

“It’s not the weather’s either.” 

The chest against Mathew’s cheek shakes ever so slightly. He looks up. Lars is looking down at him. His face heats up. He’s been caught. For a moment Mathew feels terribly conflicted. He should move away but if this is his only chance he can’t. Lars doesn’t move away. Mathew feels his hand move up his spine in a comforting gesture.

The noise dies down as someone chases after Alfred. Katya shrugs at her audience. “I realized that I was not alone. I closed my eyes and prayed until I fell asleep.”

She blows out her candle and applause breaks out. Soon they’ll have to decide if they’re going to continue the game, wait for Alfred, or end the game. Mathew doesn’t care whatever they choose. He just wants a few more minutes with Lars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact my university apartment was haunted. Believe it or not. We eventually had black sludge on our kitchen wall. 
> 
> I was going to use a different name for Netherlands, one that I've seen used before, but I couldn't find it. It began with a J.


	3. Play Nice- America X China

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out more aggressive and sad than planned. It works with the headcanon that America doesn’t actually need glasses but uses them to change peoples perception of him. This is not my invention but I can't find where I first saw it.   
> Also Persia is modern day Iran but there’s a connotation of it being older, even though the name change is really more recent 1930ish.

The thought struck him looking out a window sixteen stories high. Their meeting had run over time by hours and the sun had set. The lights below resembled the stars he couldn’t see in the sky.

 _Come to think of it, when was the last time I stars?_ Stars used to stretch on forever over the plains. He had always been able to use them to guide him. Even after electric lamps became more common, he could still see them in cities. _When had that stopped?_

He considered bribing some secret service agent to take him out to the heartland, maybe a Kansas cornfield upon his return home. But they’d been getting stingy about that lately, more so than even during the Cold War.

He saw the reflection of a man in a tailored suit pass him by in the windows reflection. It gave him an idea.

“Hey China,” he called out.

* * *

Play nice. How many times has he heard that over his centuries? His emperor reminding him, play nice with England, he has your little brother in his hands. Even Russia pushing his own agenda and expecting China to follow along during his cold war. As if he did not know. As if he has not lived centuries more than them all. He has survived wars and plagues. He has ushered in some of the greatest inventions of history.

He doesn’t need to be told to play nice.

America walks along his Great Wall as if it is no greater than any other road he has walked along. 

Most nations would be insulted to see their landmarks so dismissed, especially one that is so applauded. Russia would be planning murder. England would scream. China knows America well enough not to react. Every single thing the young nation does is covered in five layers of hidden agendas, double meanings, and at least one layer of nonsense. China knows the type. He’s seen them before. Persia is like that.

America seems to be focused on the stars. His head is unabashedly angled toward the sky. No one could really hold him at fault for his focus. The stars are spilling across the night sky, hanging above them like a veil. Soft golden light illuminates their steps as if it’s a heaven made path through the stars.

The young nation looks best under the sun. Its rays made his golden hair shine. But perhaps, the stars complement him just as well. They could rest in his eyes as well as they do in the sky.

America is struggling with his glasses. He moves them up and down his nose as if a few centimetres will make a difference. He hasn’t decided if America’s dedication to his deceptions is pathetic or impressive. China is far too old and experienced to fall for such a simple trick as unneeded glasses. Although America did have him convinced for some time.

China steps close to him. They’re just out of sight of their minders. He slips America’s glasses off his face. The younger nation doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away from him. He brings out a small handkerchief to clean the glass.

His minders are giving him a wonderful show of faith in their nation. He can restrain himself. He can act appropriately. They don’t have to try and control him.

He could push America over the edge. He could kiss him. He really wants to take a step closer, to press into his space, to lift himself up and take hold of his shoulders.

China watches America watch him. He’s smiling as always. There’s a certain sharpness to his lips that he’s seen before on other faces. His eyes are bright. He doesn’t look at the history below their feet. He doesn’t look at the landscape around them. He doesn’t look at the stars. He can see the tension between them.

China lifts his glasses up and America moves closer. He leans forward so his glasses slide onto his face rather than put them on himself. It’s almost friendly. America’s smile changes. He turns away.

Sometimes China wishes he could play nicer.


	4. First Sight- America X China

America used to steal England’s letters. He snatched them from his desk and hid them under his straw mattress. He did not do it often. He only took those that were intended for the fire. They had been opened and read, so England never missed them.

It wasn’t about England. He could say, after his revolution, that it wasn’t even about his rights or freedoms. America was just curious about the world and every nation in it.

He did have his favorite letters. France always sprayed his letters with perfume. Italy’s always had pictures. China’s smelled of spices he had never smelled before. He doesn’t have a name or a taste to match them with. But he enjoys them. He runs his fingers over the creases in the paper until the once crisp lines gone soft from his handling.

Years pass. All too soon and in no time at all, there are no letters to steal from England’s desk. England has no desk, no control, over his home now. He gets some of his own. At first, there’s only a few from nations that had helped him with the war, but he could not truthfully call friends only friendly. With time things change and his letters increase.

He is not the most open nation and he doesn’t want to be. They have nothing he needs and there’s so much for him to do. His heart beats with a call of go west, go west, grow and he follows it.

When those spices finally land on his shores they are accompanied by people with slanted eyes and strange clothing. He savors them. He savors all the foreign things that come into his ports. Not that he’ll admit it, but there’s a closet in his home filled with things from foreign ports. The objects are carefully arranged so he can pluck them out with ease; maps of trade routes stretching over the ocean, pictures of mountains, little stones that come in seemingly impossible shapes and colors, and carvings made from fish bones. They entertain him but they can’t keep him contained.

There are still so many nations he doesn’t know. But he’s not so little anymore and he’s always been curious. His borders can’t contain him. He goes farther, he leaves home and takes to the sea.

The wood groans softly with every rock of the waves. The saltwater sprays onto his skin. This close to port, a foreign port, America is focused on the treats that await him. There are new fresh foods on shore. There are songs that he hasn’t heard a hundred times. He’d say that nothing could tear his attention away but there’s one thing.

He feels a rumbling in his bones, the presence of another nation. Another ship, with a flag he’s seen on letters and maps, passes slowly. He stares, almost leaning over the railing. He needs to see this nation. Lightning surges through him as catches sight of him and he’s in love.

The other nation stands at the helm, a flash of red amidst a much duller sea. He’s older than England, he knows that, he can feel it, but the nation doesn’t look it. His eyes are sharp. His hair is as dark as ink. Their eyes meet.

America can feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. He feels timeless but the world is still moving around them. He follows along as the other ship slowly passes them. He lets the railing guide his steps. China is less enthralled and stands still. But he watches America embarrass himself. Even as the ship fades from his sight he keeps his eyes on where he knows China stands.

One of his sailors has to pry him off the ship and, in the markets, he finds himself closing his eyes and following his nose to the spices that he now finds himself craving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this one could have been better but we're running on a schedule.


	5. Red- Prussia X South Italy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovino and his brothers weave the fates of mortals. Their own are more difficult to handle.

Lovino’s fingers work rapidly, darting between and over threads with practiced ease. Today he works alone. His brothers having abandoned him to chase after pretty girls or food. Idiots.

He pulls a new thread into his hands. He watches as the colors twine and mix together. They glide from his fingers and join the tapestry before him.

It’s a new one but he’s already grudgingly charmed by it. The colors are vibrant. Deep blues and shining golds dominate the landscape. There’s such promise before him. This life tapestry, it could be one that they talk about for ages. But every good story needs…

His fingers pause as he debates. His face twists with each new thought. His fingers tremble. It’s early but it’s not unheard of. He eyes a small basket at his feet. This could be disastrous. Feliciano is normally the one to make this call. He was more naturally suited to it, they all said so. But what would he do about it if Lovino added it in without him, cry? The fool would probably be delighted to have someone else do his job.

Lovino darts down and snatches a gleaming red string. The floorboards creak behind him. Lovino remains oblivious until hands land on his shoulders. He screams and flails. His seat clatters to the ground. His hands are extended above his head to keep the strings undisturbed, a side effect of lifetimes of weaving.

Lovino sees red in two ways as laughter fills the room. He kicks out, aiming for the intruder’s shins. The asshole dodges him easily.

“So focused! What has your attention little Lovino? Unleashing another plague while your brothers’ back is turned?” Lovino flushes.

“You rude utter bastard! Get out!” He’s ignored.

“Awk! It is so stuffy in here. Open a window.”

“Why should I open a window for you?”

“Because you are grateful for my awesome presence.” Gillbert beams. Lovino’s heard that pathetic explanation a million times before. It’s never worked.

“Like hell I am!” Lovino climbs back onto his stool. He straightens his back and resumes his weaving. His fingers are much slower than before. He glares down at them as if that will make them pic k up their pace.

Gilbert’s eyebrows rise. His hands dart out to snatch the strings from Lovino’s fingers. He dances backward snatching up a forgotten pair of scissors. He opens them, making snapping noises with his mouth as he brings them towards the strings.

Lovino shrieks and lunges at him. Gilbert attempts to leap back but isn’t quick enough this time. Lovino’s fueled by rage and indignation. He bounds forwards with clawing nails, gnashing teeth, and a cry of, “Give it back you tasteless bastard!”

Gilbert freezes at teeth so close to his face. A nervous giggle escapes him. Lovino wraps one hand around his wrist and another around his neck.

The sight of wide red eyes looking up at him makes his limbs go stiff. They’re so close together. Gilbert’s legs are in between his own. His fingers are tangled together with encircling red strings. Lovino’s breath catches as his face goes red.

Gilbert moves haltingly. He raises himself onto his elbows. He bends around Lovino. His head tilts to one side. He’s watches him and Lovino is paralyzed. Red eyes move to the tapestry. He makes a click in the back of his throat. “So, you like this one?”

Lovino is freed from the moment. He scrambles back. Then in an attempt to look like he’s perfectly in control of himself and definitely not about to start screaming again he crosses his arms and scoffs dismissively.

“This one is so dreadfully dull.” It’s not. Gilbert probably can’t see the design yet but it’s so clear to him. There’s a thin line of white that’s the beginnings of wings. The first strands of gold have only just appeared. It’s going to be beautiful.

Gilbert’s laughs is just as loud and unashamed as it always is. He releases the strings of fate back into Lovino’s hands. He twirls them as he does. His fingers linger over Lovino’s knuckles. “You know what I think?”

“Who cares what you think? Barging in like you know shit,” Lovino grumbles.

Gilbert swings his arm in a sharp upward hook. “It needs more umph.”

“Umph?” Lovino’s lips twist in disgust.

“Yeah add in a dragon or something. That’s be awesome.”

“A dragon? That’s fucking tacky.” He’s seen so many fucking dragons in tapestries. Always with wide wings or flowing manes and bright white teeth. They’re overdone at best. “Overdone lizards.”

Gilbert laughs and knocks his hips into Lovino’s. He stumbles and glares. Gilbert’s smile only grows. “I bet you’d have some fun with it.” 

He’s already having fun. “Get. Out.”

“Yeah, yea. As you wish, oh great weaver of fate.” Gilbert does not move towards the door. Instead he opens a window and swings a leg out of it. He winks and waves at Lovino as he disappears.

Lovino rubs at his temples. He can already feel the headache coming. He sits back on his stool. He sighs as he lays the strings on his lap. He starts to count back from ten. By the time he hits one he can hear footsteps pounding up the stairs to him. He points his finger to the window.

The door bursts open. Three people gasp for air in the doorway. “Where-?” Two of them, the brunettes follow his finger. They run to the window and hang out it for a minute as they curse and look for Gilbert. Then they take off down the stairs.

One person, a stupid blonde, lingers. “Sorry for the interruption, again. Thank you for…”

“Thank you,” Lovino sneers. Does an apology even matter if it keep needing to be repeated? Honestly, it’s a miracle he can get anything done with how often Gilbert ends up barging in. “How about you thank me by sending my useless little brother back. Well? Maybe he’d actually do his job if you stopped letting him hang off you, you stupid ugly potato.”

“Ah? Yes?” Ludwig backs out of the room awkwardly.

Lovino waits until he can no longer hear his steps. He runs his teeth over his lip and thinks of red eyes. He starts weaving before he can second guess himself. He carefully places the new strand into the tapestry. The red string is long and strong. It’ll run deep in the tapestry until the very end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about weaving tapestries.


	6. Midnight Music- Prussia X Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prussia is awoken in the middle of the night and goes to investigate.

It was the dead of night and Prussia was deep asleep. Or at least he was supposed to be. He had to be awake early in the morning and he had a full day of drills scheduled. And yet he was wide awake. Not awesome! He was totally going to be a zombie tomorrow.

And why? He had gone to sleep at lights out. He hadn’t snuck in a diary entries or porn mags. And yet here he was lying in his bunk. with a thin pillow over his head.

It was Italy’s fault. Sometime after midnight he had started playing music and singing. He wasn’t close enough to make out any of the words but it was loud enough to wake him up.

It made no sense. Sure the singing and the dancing was all things Italy was known to for. But the Mediterranean nation threatened to mutiny every time his afternoon siesta had to be delayed for more than ten minutes no matter the cause. Why would je be awake? And why wasn’t West doing anything about it? His little brother was such a stickler for the regulations, alliance and embarrassing crushes aside.

Well if he wasn’t going to do anything about it, Prussia would. How could he strike fear into the hearts of his enemies if he was pale and red eyed? Well he was already those things but he couldn’t allow himself to be that in a different unawesome way.

Prussia threw himself out of bed and down the hall. The music became clearer the closer he got to Italy’s room. He was singing in Latin, a fairly normal occurrence, but his voice sounded deeper than usual. He did not want to know how his voice got like that.

Prussia opened the door and discovered Italy was fast asleep. But a figure lounged by his bedside playing music and singing. Softly flowing lights sparkled around him. The man couldn’t be human. He was maybe even something greater than a nation.

He was perfect. He had thick chestnut hair and olive skin with the sexiest scars Prussia had ever seen. The muscles in his arms rippled with every strum of strings. He kicked up his legs and Prussia almost drooled at the sight. He was the most beautiful man he had ever seen.

Prussia immediately shut the door. A man like that was beyond human or nation and therefore something that he probably shouldn’t mess with, not without reinforcements. And how the hell was he anyways. He had to have a connection to Italy. He had apparently broken into base only to play music for the sleeping nation, which was ridiculous. Maybe they were related? There was a certain resemblance between them.

He would have to investigate. An intruder was an intruder. Or maybe… On second thought, Prussia cracked the door open and crouched down. He would just sit here and watch. He hadn’t acted like a hostile yet. The handsome man could stay and sing in there forever. Prussia didn’t need the sleep. Besides zombies could scare enemy troops or cadets awesomely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually the first I wrote for Rare Pair week.


	7. My Boyfriend Reacts - America X China

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yao has his boyfriend react to Mo Dao Zu Shi for his blog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No knowledge of MDZS needed for the silliness.

Cords trail across the floor connecting the TV to the laptop. Alfred smiles as he watches his boyfriend type away on his laptop. “Ok so after this you have to keep your end of the deal.”

Yao looks over the top of his computer screen. “You should fulfill your end of the deal before you start worrying about me.” Alfred opens his mouth to object. “I already bought the ingredients.” He kicks his feet up and tucks the underneath himself. “Now let’s begin.”

Yao has spent the last two weeks bothering and bribing Alfred to agree to this. It wasn’t only for his own satisfaction, but also for his followers. His blog has been very successful; he makes just as much with his blog as he does working a ‘normal’ job. It’s dedicated to all things food, but he likes to include the occasional glimpse into his life.

There’s only so many cat pictures he can post. So, he’s trying something new. He knows Alfred will like the show if he gives it a chance. He loves action shows with a big mystery. That may not be a good description, the show does have sword fights and magic. He’s created a slideshow and is ready to record all his boyfriend’s comments. It will begin with character reactions and then they’ll watch the first three episodes.

A beautiful background of a lotus pond with the words My Boyfriend Reacts to MDZS in red. The next slide is nearly identical to the first except the words say, my boyfriend in bold blue and me in italicized red.

The first character appears on the screen. He’s only using pictures from the live action to keep things simple.

**Oh, he’s pretty. Wait why are there so many names on the screen? Is he like possessed?**

_The first one is their birth name, the second is their formal name, and I included any titles they have._

**Ok then. This won’t be a problem at all. Wait do you have more than one name?**

_Alfred, I’m over a thousand years old._

**Yeah and I’m like three hundred and I’ve only had the one.**

_You’re a baby. I’ve had several names._

**If I’m a baby does that make you a cradle robber. .. You’re not going to put this in the slide show, right?**

_The next slide focuses on another character._

**He’s pretty too. Is the whole cast pretty? Did they just find the pretty people available and teach them how to act?**

_The acting is really good._

**That’s not a no.**

**Hey they’re wearing white.**

_Yes, their whole sect does._

**Yeah but that’s like wearing black in the west.**

_Alfred…_

**So, they’re like goth! The goth clan.**

_Yao moves on to the next slide before Alfred can work himself up anymore._

**Oh my god. He’s just like Arthur.**

_What do you mean?_

**Look at that bitch face. That’s like Arthur’s default expression.**

_Several slides later Alfred starts giggling._

**Yao? His name is Yao. OMG is he like your fav?**

_…Not really_

**What’s up with the red dot?**

_Everyone in their sect has it._

**Ok more importantly, what’s up with the hat. No one else has a hat. And it’s so weird. Was that common back then? Did you have a hat like that?**

_Alfred_

**Do you want a hat like that? Oh, do you want to cosplay him? Don’t shove me! You like the show right? Kiku would be impressed.**

He’ll have to edit that slide for his followers. Mentions of living for thousands of years really won’t fly but it would be funny to show their families the unedited version. They move onto the younger characters.

**Baby.**

With the character reactions completed Alfred spreads snacks on the coffee table. He lifts the blankets he’s been buried in and Yao slides under. He settles into his arms and they begin the first episode.

Almost immediately Alfred starts talking and Yao records each one on his phone.

**Ok I have no idea what’s going on.**

_Just watch. It’ll be explained._

**There’s so many of them. Could I get like a notebook or something to keep track of them? This is going to be just like Game of Thrones, isn’t it?**

**He’s like a bard. This song saved my life.**

_Are you just going to meme through this?_

**No?**

_You are._

Alfred does and Yao has to smother his laughter into his hand.

As the end credits start on the third episode Yao stands up. He stretches his arms as he heads to the kitchen. “Alright I’ll start on dinner now.”

The blankets rustle as Alfred moves. “Wait. Is it ok if I watch the next episode or do you want to watch it with me?”

Yao stops in his tracks. He looks back over his shoulder. His eyebrow raised. “You want to watch more?”

“Well,” Alfred chews on his lip. He’s never liked admitting when someone else was right. “I mean…” Yao lets him stew in his own thoughts.

“We can watch the next episode while we eat.”

Alfred lets out a happy noise. “On the couch? Well someone is eager.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was late due to DnD and sleep. But it's done and it was fun to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Day One Prompt - Flowers


End file.
